


Fact or Weapon

by ZapLovely



Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dallas' Intimacy Problems, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Johnny's Complicated Feelings, Johnny's emotional rollercoaster of a life, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Misunderstandings, Overthinking, Self-Esteem Issues, Set before the events of the book? or the book just never happens, Suicidal Thoughts, Touch-Starved, ponyboy has one braincell and he uses it to Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24486520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZapLovely/pseuds/ZapLovely
Summary: At a get together with the gang, Johnny thinks. And thinks. And thinks.or, Johnny and Dallas share a kiss one night. And the next time they see each other, Dallas doesn't know what to say.
Relationships: Johnny Cade/Dallas Winston
Comments: 16
Kudos: 122





	Fact or Weapon

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on trying to write an Outsiders fanfiction for so long, and I finally got something that I'm kinda happy with. Sorry that the summary isn't too great, but thank you for clicking anyway!! :)

The Curtis brothers had gleaming smiles and dark golden hair. Their eyes were light and they crinkled in just the right way. Out of everyone Johnny knew, they were always easy to look at, and always easy to talk to. Hell, if money wasn't an issue, they could easily be from the south side of town. Soda and Pony would be sitting under the roof of a mustang and laughing through all the stop lights. The rings on Darry's fingers would fit just right.

But things weren't that way. They didn’t live in a big house. Their lawn was always yellow. And they still hung around high strung boys like Johnny Cade.

He could barely stand being seen with all three of them. The scars on his face felt deeper. The slope of his shoulders felt heavier. Cause he wasn’t smart like Pony or Darry. Would never catch a room’s attention like Soda. Couldn’t fight like Two-Bit or Dallas. Didn’t even have a talent like Steve and his damn cars. Johnny was all rough skin and messy hair. Jutting bones that caught the light in all the wrong ways. 

His dad and ma once said that the only thing he was good for was getting thrown around. Bleeding. Makin’ others feel sorry for him. His eyes just weren’t meant for smiling or loving.

Johnny didn’t know if they were right or if he was wrong to hope differently.

“Hey kid,” A sturdy slap found his shoulder, “I doubt that carpet is really that interesting.”

Johnny jumped slightly, whipping his head upwards to a grinning Two-Bit. “More interesting than that Mickey stuff you put on all the time.” Johnny bit back, more harsh than he intended. He winced slightly, guilt pulling at his gut.

Two-Bit let out a low whistle and removed his hand. His grin had dimmed, but it still made his dimple pop out just enough. “Didn’t know you could swing that hard, Johnny.” Then his face evened out entirely. Quickly, he scanned the Curtis' living room, making sure the others were still messing around in the kitchen. He didn’t really have to check, they weren’t exactly being quiet in there. A loud clang came through the door, followed by a chorus of laughs and some cursing.

Two-Bit nodded to himself, like he finally figured that the coast was clear. He then turned back to Johnny. An eyebrow raised on his uncharacteristically serious face. Johnny silently braced himself.

“What’re you doing out here, Johnny? Everyone’s helping make dinner- or trying to make dinner.” He added, letting his eyes light up slightly. Johnny remembered the football Soda was tossing around, and assumed some of them were still fooling around with it. “Everyone but you, obviously.”

Johnny looked down again, rubbing his fingers along the ridges in his nail. “Just takin’ a breather is all.” He spared a glance at his friend. “M’sorry for what I said man, I-I didn’t mean it.” He then tried staring at anything but the boy in front of him. Two-Bit was quiet, standing there with his thumbs in his belt loops. Just thinking, hard. It made more shame boil up in him.

Two-bit didn’t give himself too much credit at all, but Johnny did. He had a laugh that stuck to the walls in a room and a humor that made even Johnny feel better on his worst days. Johnny remembers the days after he got jumped and Two-Bit gently said stupid jokes as he laid on the very couch he sat on now. Stupid jokes that would make the scars on Johnny’s lip bust back open. And even when that happened, Two-Bit had a tissue at hand to clean up the blood, just in case. Darry didn’t approve of it, obviously, but the boy still rarely left the house those couple of weeks.

He was as funny as he was caring.

Johnny felt sick.

“Shoot kid, I know you didn’t mean it, don’t worry too much about it.” Two-Bit finally said, laying his hand back on his shoulder, softer this time. His face was still twisted in worry, and Johnny had to resist the urge to dig his nails into his skin. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Johnny forced himself to make eye contact, managing to pull a small smile out. “Yeah, I am. Just tired is all. Folks kept me up last night.”

The last part wasn’t a lie, but Two-Bit still obviously didn’t believe him. He looked like he was gonna say something else, but a small sigh came out instead. The boy just wasn’t the kind of person to force it out of someone. So instead, he nodded, retracted his hand for the last time, and leaned back. “If you gotta pass out for a bit, I’ll let the others know.” He winked. “Don’t sleep for too long though, then we’d have to bury you.”

“I’ll try my best.” Johnny answered, a small grin showing up. Two-Bit nodded, like he accomplished something worthwhile, and then waltzed back into the kitchen. Multiple voices heckled him back, and he seemed to bite right back at them.

A long breath found its way into his throat. And for a second, he felt okay. But bein' all alone in a room meant for socializing made it feel like he was doing something wrong. That the worn fabric on the couch deserved more than his own skin.

A beaten up switch in his brain flicked back on, and the ache started all over again.

They sounded like they were having fun. If he closed his eyes and focused, he could distinguish their voices. Darry in the kitchen with Two-Bit and Pony. Soda and Steve in the back. The sizzling of bacon and pancakes (“Johnnycakes!” Two-Bit had exclaimed when seeing them). 

Then Johnny suddenly heard a laugh alongside Darry and Two-Bit, making his chest tighten up. It was low, yet goofy. Dallas was never as loud as the others, but hell, Johnny would still be able to hear him no matter the noise. In his mind's eye, Johnny saw the way Dally's canine teeth always caught on his bottom lip when he came down from a laugh.

Johnny noticed too many things. He kept them tucked away just below his skin, so when he had to dig them back out, it wouldn't hurt as much. But Dallas hadn’t even glanced at Johnny once all day. And despite his best efforts, that fact pierced far underneath the skin. It would take scalpels and bone cutters just to reach where it landed.

Johnny slowly went back to picking at his hands. And he did what he could only do in this situation: think about what went wrong.

A couple of nights ago, Johnny couldn't have convinced Dally to look away even if he wanted to. He had stumbled into the lot like the world was shaking and fell right next to Johnny. A cool breeze followed him, rustling the branches above them and dropping leafs on their heads. Dally smiled at him despite it. Talked to him like he always did, but he kept his arm around Johnny’s shoulder the whole night.

Johnny knew whiskey when he smelled it.

But even then, Johnny leaned into it. He pushed against the screaming in his head, savoring a warmth he hadn’t felt for so long. The tips of Dally’s fingers kneaded at his shoulder while he talked, and Johnny had to keep unforeseen tears at bay. Because they didn’t hurt, and this felt better than anything had in months now. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he was held that close.

And Johnny actually started grappling with a small confidence. The contact, the smiles, the staring. It all had to mean something more. So, Johnny made a decision. Cautiously, he pressed his thigh right up against Dally's. Felt fear and adrenaline course through him faster than one of Steve’s fancy cars. And surprisingly, Dallas didn’t pull away. He didn’t spit at him or throw him to the ground, the things his parents thought he did best.

The other boy stopped and turned his head to him halfway through a story about the races. Bore his gaze over Johnny’s face before settling on his eyes. He stared back as well, and oh god, Johnny could go on and on about Dallas fucking Winston. Could bury all the details and "little things" deep inside and let them fester around like they owned the place. Johnny was so good at letting people get the better of him, but Dallas was the one that stung in all the right places.

Dally's hair curled around the shells of his ears, fawning over pale, red skin. He always stood tall and would glare through those cold eyes at just about anything that moved. How he could easily throw people over his shoulder in fights, and then nervously bite his lips when the cops showed up. 

When Johnny would sew his knuckles back together, Dallas always kept so still and quiet.

Johnny was kidding himself. How could he pretend that everything only stayed near the surface if Dallas Winston was already taking up rent close to his heart.

So when Dally reached out and touched Johnny’s cheek, something inside the boy broke. It was deep in his chest, and it made Johnny’s head spin like no other. When Dallas ran his thumb over the skin, he traced scars and old bruises alike. Like it was easy. Like he actually wanted to do it.

He acted like Johnny deserved love.

“I’m sorry.” Johnny had whispered, not completely knowing why.

Despite the whiskey, Dallas sounded relatively sober. “Johnny, you’re the last person I know who’s gotta be sorry about something.”

And then he leaned forward and kissed him. His hand stayed where it was, rubbing along the apple of Johnny’s cheek. The tears welled up and a couple made their way down, running off his chin. They caused Dallas to pull back for a second, but before he could say much of anything, Johnny reached up and gripped the back of his hair, pulling him back. It was the damn confidence that crawled it’s way back into Johnny’s skull, and it was the same thing that made the next kiss all the better.

And Dallas grinned through it all, keeping his hand on Johnny’s face all night long.

Today was the first time Johnny saw the other boy since that night. The Curtis’ always had get- togethers, especially after the school year got out. Pony had soared even higher in his academics, so why not have a small celebration?

But the days before it, Johnny found himself stuck with his parents. They didn’t hit him as much as they yelled this time around. All night. About him and his issues, like they didn’t have anything to do with it. If he had tried to leave the house, his dad threatened locking him in his room until next week. Like all the other times. And Johnny would've risked it then, if only he didn't have plans. Didn't want to imagine the disappointment in Pony if he didn't show up.

So he stayed. Listened. Felt the words and bruises share space under his skin. 

When he was finally let go, Pony found him in the lot, all smiles and shine. Johnny had almost forgotten about why he stayed in that house. Pony was there just cause he wanted to walk with him to his own house. And so Johnny went, despite his bones telling him to just stay by himself. To rot away just like the broken down car that was in the lot longer than Johnny was ever alive for.

Dallas was the last one to show up. Soda was in the middle of putting Pony in a chokehold and messing his hair up when he burst in. Johnny had felt a horrible hope clog his chest when he saw Dallas walk through the door. Had the urge to tell him that he missed him.

Until he was looking at everything but Johnny.

And Johnny may be dumb, but he could always tell when someone regretted something. He saw it in his dad’s eyes every other blue moon. Felt it in the way his mother would sometimes make breakfast in the morning after an awful night.

And now here was Dallas. Talking to everyone but him. Finding the walls more appealing to look at. The way he was biting his lips.

Anything was better than Johnny. Just like it always was.

Throughout the day, Johnny followed everyone around like he was supposed to. Watched them play football. Had a coke with Pony and talked about how he may go work with Soda over the summer. Cracked the eggs that Darry would cook with. Smiled.

Dallas seemed fine. At least Johnny thought so, the boy wouldn’t stay in the same room as him for more than a minute.

Everything was fine.

But of course Ponyboy knew something was wrong. Maybe Johnny seemed smaller than usual. Or he wasn’t used to seeing Dally without Johnny or Johnny without Dally. Regardless of what gave it away, Pony stuck by his side like he was dying. And stared at Dallas when he was around, eyes squinting slightly. He looked like he wanted to say something, to touch the surface of the barrier that seemed to pop up. Pony never did. He just looked at Johnny with a stitch in his brow when he was sure no one was looking too closely.

After a couple of hours of this, Johnny started to sweat slightly. Another half hour passed by before he finally mustered up the strength to tell Pony that he was gonna go recharge for a bit in the living room. The worry only became deepened on his face, but he nodded slightly despite it. “Okay...if you need anything just let me know.”

Johnny didn’t respond. The shame grew higher and hotter.

He hadn’t moved from the couch since then, probably taking on dust. Thinking. Listening for any sign of Dallas in the other rooms just to torture himself. And now that he thought about it, Two-Bit was probably yammering on about how Johnny was acting to everyone else now. Pony knew when to keep his mouth shut, but Two-Bit was always rearing to go. 

And as if he was on autopilot, staring at the world below him, he found that the porch creaked under his steps, all the way down to the pavement. In the sky a large cloud rolled overhead, only blocking out a fraction of the setting sun. The wind smelled like oil because the neighbors were working on an old car of theirs. And silently, Johnny walked all the way to the end of the yard, setting his hands on top of the fence.

He had expected to feel angry about it all. Because no matter how often the gang thought of him as a scared pacifist, Johnny knew it wasn't the full story. He had lived a life of highs and lows, deep in the dry heart of Tulsa. When he cried, it wasn't him. And when he fought, it was for someone else.

But when he was angry- that was all him. Breaking bottles across streets he knew would be busy when the sun came up. Stealing his mother's favorite jewelry and flushing it down the toilet, hearing it clank all the way down the pipes. Burning his dad’s morning papers and dumping out alcohol in the backyard. It always would rock him so deeply, and sometimes it felt like the only thing he was good at was being angry.

Eventually, it would fade. It always does. Johnny is then stuck with broken glass and guilt. Would wonder if his father felt the same anger when looking at him. And then Johnny would have a fever for the next few days and beg God to finally give him a damn break and just let him never wake back up.

But he could never truly get angry at Dallas or the rest of the gang. They saw him in such a positive light- it made him almost ashamed to feel the things he does. And if he couldn’t be angry at Dallas or even disappointed, what could he be?

His chest ached in response. And he knew too well what it was.

The fence shook hard as a gust of wind blew through the yard. Johnny blinked away his thoughts, and darted his eyes towards the latch. But before he could even think of walking through the gate, he heard the front door swing open.

“Yah leavin’ already?” A voice came from behind him. Johnny froze, gripping the metal of the fence so hard that his knuckles turned white. He felt so sick he may have just killed over right then and there. Slowly the footsteps approached him, creaking down the porch, every thud sending a stake through Johnny’s chest. When he was only a couple of feet away, Dallas fucking Winston spoke again. “Superman in there hasn't even brought out the cake yet."

“Why do you wanna know if I'm leaving or not?” Johnny said softly, not turning at all to face him.

A beat of silence appeared before he answered. “You’ve been missing for a couple of days, kid. The gang noticed, buncha nosy punks. First time they’ve seen you since, they’re just worried is all.”

“Is the whiskey worried?”

Johnny heard a scoff, and he could just imagine Dallas pushing his hands into his pockets and staring to the side. “Johnny-”

The boy in question suddenly pushed back from the fence, leaving it rattling. He turned his body slightly, taking a long look at Dallas. His cold eyes stared back, and his head was tilted slightly. Hands in his pockets.

And god, Johnny wanted to say sorry. For that night, for his behavior, for being him. Everywhere he went, anyone he met, he always seemed to end up tracking mud and dirt all over the place. 

But he didn't. Words got caught on the backs of his teeth. Wanted to ask if he would ever be good enough. Or if he would ever look like the Curtis', to be able to walk down the street and feel comfortable with himself.

If the whiskey tasted better then the breaking of Johnny's guard.

"Johnny?" Dallas asks, straightening his head, staring at the other boy evenly.

The boy closes his eyes, waiting for the moment he opens them and Dallas is just gone.

“...I’m... I’m sorry, okay man? Back in there, I guess I panicked. Never felt like that before.”

His eyes snap back open. Dally’s arms are now folded tightly over his chest, but he’s surprisingly still making eye contact. “Your parents, they didn’t give you too hard of a time, did they?”

“I-I don’t know…” Johnny said breathlessly. “So what?”

“So what? Hell, kid, I’ve been…” He stopped for a second, letting his arms fall down. “Worried.”

“You didn’t act too worried in there.” Johnny motioned to the house. “Didn’t even look at me, Dally.” His voice cracked hard on the boy's name, and he winced despite himself. Dallas seemed to turn back in, and was back to staring anywhere but in front of him. 

“I get it, Dal. I’m not like the others. I’m just...here.” Johnny tapped the ground for good measure. “Takin’ up space.” His face was burning again, and he prayed that his eyes wouldn’t start leaking. “That night was the first time I felt…” Johnny struggled for a word, rubbing the tight spot on his chest.

“...wanted.”

“The gang doesn’t just want you, they need you, Johnny. More than you know.”

“That ain’t the same, Dally.” Johnny just about pleaded. “I need you to say it.”

“Huh?”

“Dallas…”

“Jesus, Johnny- what do you want me to say? That I’ve missed you? You already know that I have.”

“No, that I-” The rest of the sentence died in his throat, leaving him just looking at the boy in front of him. At the confusion and maybe even annoyance that plagued Dally’s face. It hit Johnny hard, knowing they were going nowhere. He imagined his parents house all lit up. His own bedroom door locked. But when he would finally get out, nobody would be waiting for him.

He’d be alone. 

“Whoa, Johnny, take it easy man-”

Johnny furrowed his eyebrow, breaking up his nightmare. And that’s when he heard his breathing, all ragged and wheezy. And how the blood was rushing past his ears so fast that he could feel a headache coming on. Suddenly, he backed up into the fence, bending his head down and trying to get some breaths in. It didn’t help much, and only seemed to make the almost choking sounds get louder. 

Two hands then found their way onto his shoulder, pushing him so his back was straighter. The chain from the fence dug into his jacket at the movement, and his breaths still sounded like a fish out of water. “Johnny!” Dallas dug his fingers into his shoulders, being just about the only thing holding the boy up. “Relax, I ain’t mad at you or anything- honest.” When the noises continued, Dally looked around the yard as if someone would be there to help.

He then took a long look at Johnny, and something seemed to click.

Johnny was pulled into the hug like someone who just came home after a long trip. His chin rested on Dally’s shoulder as he was held onto tightly, his own hands hovering in the air, not sure what he was allowed to do. 

Then, the other boy's hands started rubbing at his back, slowly. For a second, in the stuttering of his fingers, it almost felt like Dally didn't quite know what he was doing either. “I don’t bite people like you, man.” Dallas said, keeping his voice low, slightly awkward. “Nothing’s gonna hurt you.”

A small breath was then sucked in for the first time since his lungs seemed to give out. And god, Dallas was as warm and encompassing as the last time. 

Johnny was just about shoved into Dally’s neck at this point, and there laid a trivial detail, gnawing at his head. Dally smelled like faint cologne and the kinda scent that rose from the dust after a fight.

No whiskey. No wine or bourbon- but god damn, the nicotine. Smelled like he’d been breathin’ the stuff for days.

The strangest things satisfied him. Convinced him that everything could be okay. And it didn't surprise Johnny that he preferred cigarettes to alcohol.

Cautiously, Johnny found that his arms wrapped around the other boy, screwing his fingers all up in his jacket. Standing on his tippy toes. A hand then found its way to his hair, smoothing it down. “You doing okay, man?”

A choppy breath was inhaled, cigarette fumes and all. “Y-yeah. But Dal, why do you smell like two chainsmokers at once.”

He shifted slightly. “I smoke when I’m nervous.”

“Well, yeah, but we all do-”

Dallas pulled back slightly, just so they could make eye contact. “But I inhale them when I know I’ve done something wrong. Say it’s a form of conscience.” He then looked annoyed. "This always happens."

Johnny furrowed his eyebrows, breathing steadily. "What always happens? You goin' around kissing other boys too?"

"Watch it, wiseass." He glared with no substance behind it. Johnny forced down a grin. "What always happens," He begins, holding Johnny steady so he doesn't break eye contact, "Is something good comes along and I just...screw it all up, yah hear? That night, yeah I was drunk, but it didn't affect me the way you're used to, man."

"Used to?"

"Your folks, they- they get mean. Angry. My old man was the same way. Well, I ain't like that when I'm on the bottle. I just get all...soft. And- shit, what's the word for when your chest gets all open and you do things that you've always wanted to do?"

"Uhm…genuine?"

"Yeah, yeah, something like that. But the point is, Johnny, that I don't regret anything. Okay?"

"N-nothing?"

"Why would I be hugging you in broad daylight if I did?"

Johnny froze for a second, honestly forgetting about them still being pushed together the way they were. "But why, Dal?"

"Why? Why what?"

"Why me? I'm just...me."

"God Johnny, you still don't get it, do you?" Dallas pulled his hands to the other boy's shoulders, staring at him like he was trying to beam the answers straight into Johnny's head. And Johnny's own arms fell back to his sides, fidgeting. "You drive me crazy. I love it."

Johnny felt his face burn at the confession. And Dallas knew. But for the first time in a while, he didn't feel like saying sorry. Johnny nodded mutely, openly taking in how the setting sun made Dally's hair look gold. “...lay off the smokes, man, it ain’t good for yah.”

A small smile crossed the other boy's face. "Lay off those shitty thoughts of yourself and I’ll consider it. Now, let’s go get some cake, man- before Pony thinks we ditched." Johnny waited for his hands to fall away from him completely, but it never happened. Instead, Dallas wrapped one arm around his shoulders completely, pushing him snug against his side. Guiding them towards the house. Johnny quickly flashed back to the night they were together, and noticed how Dallas seemed to always absentmindedly rub his thumb into his shoulder.

And before the pair walked back into the house, Johnny leaned in and placed a sweet kiss right on Dally’s cheek. When he pulled back, he thought, almost fearfully, how he would do anything if it meant he could kiss Dallas Winston over and over again. “Thank you, Dal.” He said quietly into the space between them. The other boy didn’t respond at first, but his grip got tighter.

Then, “No, Johnny, thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> <3


End file.
